get it right this time
by xsuitcaseofmemoriesx
Summary: Rachel is fed up with the bullying, the names, the taunts. She lets out all of her emotions out through a song. Based mostly on Original Song, 2.16. Focuses on Rachel but definitely Finn/Rachel included.
1. try your best but you don't succeed

A/N: So basically I was writing a little mini-fic for a graphic I made on Tumblr, and the words poured out and I wrote wayyy more than expected. So I guess I'll have a little fic here. A couple chapters possibly, based mainly on this past Tuesday's episode. My sparks of writing ideas are few and far between, so I thought I might as well keep typing and publish it! Enjoy, and please review if you like.

She thinks she understands what Finn meant now. About digging deep into the depths for that pain. She thinks of My Headband and lets out a shuddery laugh and sob rolled into one. How did she ever believe that could be a legitimate song to perform at Regionals? She doesn't have some emotional devotion to her hairthings. Her headband isn't there for her, much less anyone else in her _stupid, stupid _life.

She tries. She really does. She knows she's overbearing, and loud, and dramatic, and occasionally selfish. She knows she is possessive of solos. Is there really anything wrong with wanting to be successful? Having a dream? Trying desperately to be a part of something special? Her fellow Glee clubbers act like friends, sometimes. Mostly for their own gain. To win the contest of the week, to get a boy, to get a scholarship, something like that. And their little snide comments after almost every word she said. One alone doesn't hurt much. But all of them together? It's like a punch, right in her gut.

She doesn't understand how she deserves this. She tries to be nice. She bakes cookies. She compliments them. At the end of the day, Rachel Berry is still that disgusting chewed piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe. Quinn Fabray telling her that she's better than this town is nice, but wait for it! Rachel's going to end up heartbroken and alone as well. And Finn's going to be a _mechanic? _Finn had told Rachel long ago that he had his heart set on being the head of Glee club someday. The choir teacher, a football coach, anything but a mechanic

Rachel scribbles furiously in her notebook.

_That bitch. Quinn Fabray. _

_That bitch. Santana. _

_That asshole. Puck. _

_ That sweet girl who starts MY fashion trends but takes the credit. Brittany_

_. My stupid mother who abandoned me. Shelby. _

_That damn liar who threw an egg at my face. Jesse. _

_That bipolar jerk-that-I-still-love. Finn. _

She writes pages and pages about how much she hates them. And loves them. But mostly, hates them. And how they hate her. And then the words flow out. Little piano keys dancing in her mind. A slushie mess of words.

_I'll get it right this time. I will._


	2. get what you want but not what you need

_My Dads. I love how everyone says Dad looks like Eddie Murphy and he gives random impressions of Donkey from Shrek in the middle of the supermarket. I love how Daddy always wears his mother's floral apron when he cooks dinner. I love how my dads know when I'm sad, and bring me a glass of water. I love how they make crazy faces in photobooths with me. I love that they took me to singing competitions when I was six months old. I love the museum of my childhood in the basement._

_I hate that they are always out at musicals or gay rights events or theater workshops. I hate that sometimes, they feel more like crazy uncles than fathers. I hate that they are never around when I need a glass of water most._

…..

"What's up, hun?" Rachel's daddy cracks open the door, her dad close behind holding a tray of sugar cookies.

"Daddy, how many times do I have to tell you to knock?" Rachel swipes a hand across her bloodshot eyes and lowers the volume of the Celine Dion CD.

"If we can hear 'My Heart Will Go On' from the kitchen, it can only mean one thing," Daddy says with a smile, holding out the gold star mug, full of water.

"Thanks," Rachel whispers in reply, taking a tiny sip.

"What's wrong, little star?"

"Oh, nothing at all. Doing some songwriting for Regionals, and you know how affected I am by music."

Both dads give her a knowing look. It's scary how much they mimick each other. Rachel knows she had to explain.

"Just the usual. You know… comments about… my relations with other students and how I… may or may not be… alone when I am older."

"Baby girl, you're beautiful. We're here for you! And we know that Finn Hudson has an eye on you."

_He's too busy playing house with the wrong girl._

"Yeah. Whatever you say, Dad. I would kind of like to get back to my songwriting, so… anything else?"

"Yes. Shelby sent us some pictures."

Rachel's heart falls.

_Shelby Corcoran. I love her voice. I love her determination. I love that the first time I ever saw her, she sang Funny Girl. I love that, for a moment, I had hope that I'd have a mom to watch chick flicks with and ask about boys and teach me how to deal with girl hormones and how when the time of the month rolls around I get so angry I want to punch something._

_I hate that she has to do with Jesse. I hate that she may have sent him to spy on us, or seduce me, or something. I hate that she pushed her way into my life, only to abandon me. I hate that she said she couldn't be my mom, but then she went and adopted a little baby girl. The baby girl of one of my bullies._

_Talk about a slap in the face. Talk about songworthy material._

Daddy hands over the envelope. Inside are some pictures of Beth—blonde fuzz growing on her head, and sweet, big green eyes. Beth wearing a baby Gaga costume for Halloween. Beth attempting to play the piano. Beth eating Oreos. Beth cuddling and laughing with Shelby. And a neatly written letter. Something about how oh-I-thought-you'd-like-to-see-pictures-of-your-replacement-isn't-she-the-cutest-thing.

_No. I'd rather not._

But instead, Rachel writes a polite reply back. Because, this time, she's going to get it right.


	3. love someone but it goes to waste

A/N: Hello again! I _really _appreciate the kind reviews, they mean a lot. I know the first two chapters were pretty short, and this one is a bit longer. Hope you enjoy!

….

_Slam._

Finn throws a stack of books onto the piano about as tall as Rachel.

"_Songwriting for Dummies, Frustrated Songwriter's Handbook, Writing Better Lyrics, _and _Writing Songs about Inanimate Objects._ I picked them up at the library for you."

"Thank you, Finn, it really is sweet of you to do this for me."

_Finn Hudson. Can I do hates first this time? Yes, Rachel, you can. Now stop talking to yourself. I hate how _slow_ he is sometimes. He's not stupid. He just doesn't get things. Or gets them far too late. I hate that he used me to get a scholarship I hate that he was naïve enough to think Quinn was actually pregnant with his baby, and that he caused himself so much pain. I hate that he had sex with Santana. Does he still think she's hot? I hate that he's so bipolar. One minute he's the sweetest, most endearing thing, and the next he's some narcissistic quarterback. I wish he'd stay the same._

_I love that when he wants to be, he is so caring. He seems to see through people easily, and can tell what is wrong. I love when he is a leader. I love how he loves my style. I love his perplexed look when he attempts to do math. I love his voice. I can't really describe how much I love it. I love his kisses. I hate him._

_And love him._

He pulls at his favorite brown-striped sweater so that the sleeves cover his fingers. "No problem. After some of the, um, performances the other day, I thought the glee club could use them, too. We are _not_ singing about Sam's huge mouth at Regionals."

Rachel smirks. "I really do appreciate the thought. But… I think I came up with something for my song. It's not quite there yet, but it's coming along." She eased herself onto the piano seat and played a few scales.

Finn looks at her earnestly. "Well… can I hear it?"

"Nope. It's a surprise."

"C'mon. You sang My Headband and Only Child to me; I think I deserve the honor of hearing this one."

Rachel shakes her head stubbornly. "But this song is special. It encompasses all that I am. I guess the bad hair days and loneliness of being an only child kind of fit in." She pats the pocket of her skirt lightly, where the unfinished song lays, folded four times and labeled, CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION. YOU WILL BE SUED IF READ WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Finn rises from his chair and walks slowly over to the piano, hovering over Rachel and lightly pressing the highest key. _Plink. Plink._

"You know what we should do?"

Rachel's heart practically skips a beat at the potent feeling of déjà vu. Then, she was naïve, and now, she has a better fashion sense.

"Elo—I mean, what?"

"It'd be cool if you could teach me how to play piano. Do you think my fingers are too big for the keys?"

Rachel studies his hand as his other pokes the side of her stomach, then snatches the piece of paper from her pocket.

"Finn! Stop, that tickles!"

"Confidential information, eh?" He examines the notebook paper with a raised eyebrow and grin.

"Get your hands off of that! Do you want to be sued, Finn Hudson?"

"I think I'm willing to risk it."

Rachel tries fruitlessly to reach the crumpled paper, standing on her tiptoes as Finn waves the song in front of her nose, then stretches it out of reach.

"You… you… goober!"

He steps backward as she leaps forward, pushing him into the corner of the choir room. She tickles his stomach, making him slide down the wall and giggle like a little boy.

"Sto-stop, Rachel! I can't breathe!"

Rachel perches herself on one of his legs, finally tugging the paper from his hand. Both breathe heavily, faces inches apart. Rachel starts subconsciously counting the freckles on the bridge of Finn's nose, before internally slapping herself in the face.

"I win," she whispers, her nose lightly gracing his.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?"

Rachel slowly swivels her head. She first sees the hem of a flowered dress, but she knew who the unexpected guest was at the cold resonance of _hell_. Quinn Fabray wasn't exactly the ideal person to enter the choir room. Or to catch Rachel seemingly straddling her possible boyfriend.

"Quinn, it's not what it looks like. Your… Finn and I were not doing anything romantic of any sorts. He… slipped on the floor, in this corner right here, and I helped him up. Puck must have buttered the floor again, that juvenile boy."

Quinn didn't speak a word for a moment. She just narrowed her eyes, as they darted back and forth between the two of them. Then, they surprisingly widened into a look that was empty and wounded. Like a sad puppy. It was only for a moment, until Quinn caught herself and squinted them again.

"Stay. Away. From. Him. Does nothing get through that brain of yours? Through _either_ of your brains? You, Berry, those stupid showtunes in your head are blocking out reality. Remember that reality I talked about with you on the stage?"

"Quinn, don't go there." Rachel crossed her arms.

"And Finn. You're just… thick."

"Quinn. I don't think there's anything wrong with having some _friends_. Rachel and I were talking about songwriting."

"Yep. Friends hang out in corners with their faces a millimeter apart. Just get out, Rachel."

"See you later, Finn." Rachel walks out of the classroom without looking behind.


	4. stuck in reverse

A/N: This chapter is another more lighthearted chapter with not any huge plot developments. But I hope you still enjoy it. Blame the French parts for me doing French homework as I wrote it :) I changed the tense from present to past, I hope that doesn't irritate anyone. If you have any suggestions on future plot ideas or developments, feel free to mention them in a review! I will not necessarily use them because, when it comes down to it, the direction the story goes is my decision. But sometimes I need inspiration, and I could definitely take your idea into consideration. Enjoy!

….

"The participe passé of an ir verb is just i. Rachel, an example sentence?"

Madame Moreau, an eccentric woman with curly white hair, pink glasses, and a tendency to wear furry scarves, taught French at McKinley.

"J'ai fini mes devoirs."

"Fantastique. Finn?"

Finn frantically paged through his book and ran a hand through his hair. "Figgins a grossi après l'été?"

"Principal Figgins gained weight after the summer?" Madame Moreau raised an eyebrow. "Well, it was grammatically correct. Work on the pronunciation, though, you sound like you're congested."

A crumpled ball of paper flew over Rachel's shoulder and glided precisely to the center of her desk.

"Remind me why I took French again?" it said, with a doodle of a frazzled stick figure with asymmetric eyes and Einstein-style hair. Rachel swiveled in her seat to look at the note-writer. Finn gave his French book the most perplexed look she had ever seen, making her struggle to stifle a laugh.

"Possibly because I convinced you over the summer that it would enrich you and open your eyes to the rich cultures of Europe. Which it has! Plus, your mom thinks taking multiple languages looks good on a transcript, which is something we agree on, Finn. It's the reason why I'm taking Spanish, French, German, Latin, and a Russian online course." Rachel wrote back in pink gel pen, refolding the note neatly and sliding it backwards with her foot.

"The only good thing about this class is eating the creeps."

"Crêpes, Finn. Crêpes."

"Whatever. Can I pleeease hear your song?" When Rachel turned around, Finn gave her an endearing puppy-dog look.

"Absolutely not. It's not like I'd sing it in the middle of class!"

"Can't you just tell me the lyrics?"

"Okay. How about this. I'll give you a line of the lyrics or so, once in a while. Out of order. Deal?"

"Deal."

Rachel taps her pen as she thinks, then writes: "What can you do when your good isn't good enough, and all that you touch tumbles down."

"That's awesome, Rachel. Really. It's sad, but good. And you don't deserve that, y'know."

Rachel didn't reply back for the rest of class. Partially because of Madame Moreau's glares in her direction, but mainly because she simply didn't know how to respond.

As the bell rang at the end of class, Finn literally launched out of his chair and raced to the door. Rachel lightly touched his elbow in the doorway.

"Yo, it's lunchtime, and I need to get there before they run out of chicken. Or else I'll get fish sticks, and… oh, it's you, Rachel!"

"You and lunch, Finn, my word. I was going to ask, how are things with Quinn?"

He suddenly found his sneakers fascinating. "Uh, okay. Kind of awkward since the other day. And she's more controlling."

"I'm genuinely sorry that things got out of line. I got carried away…"

"No, _I_ got carried away. I shouldn't have been so pushy about the song. I'm just excited, y'know?" He squeezed her on the shoulder.

"Me too. I won't let you, or the glee club down this time."

"I trust you. I have to go, because I have to accompany Quinn in the line, or she'll freak. I don't even know what that word means, just that you and Quinn seem to use it a lot."

"Have fun." Rachel gave a little wave and dialed her locker combination.

_Oh, the way things so quickly go back to the way they were._

…

Rachel liked to observe people at lunch. It was the sole time of the day where she mainly kept her mouth shut, and just got lost in her thoughts and vegan sandwich. She sat with Tina, Mike, Artie, Brittany, Santana, Sam, Puck, Lauren, and Mercedes. It felt nice to belong, unlike last year when she sat by herself much of the time. Finn used to sit with them, but now he sat with Quinn at the edge of a table of football players and others on the top of the pyramid. He faced Rachel, so occasionally he'd roll his eyes at her or send a goofy face her way.

But Rachel had to admit, she was _very_ observant. She noticed little things. Like how Tina always had a salad. ("Thank _God_ there are no chicken feet in this thing.") And Mike would smile a little and sometimes wipe the ranch dressing of the corner of her mouth with a napkin. Artie and Brittany's hands were always touching. Rachel noticed that, despite Sam's arm around Santana's shoulder, she seemed busy mournfully looking at Brittany.

"What are you staring at, Berry?" The rest of the table had gone up to throw their trash out, leaving only Santana and Rachel.

"You stared at Brittany's back until she reached the trash cans." Rachel replied.

"I'm jealous of her hat."

"I know for a fact that you think those furry hats are tacky. You _constantly_ say so to the rest of the glee club."

Santana gave her a defeated look.

"You love her, don't you?"

"_You_ need to stay out of my business." Santana said with a scowl.

"You sang Landslide together last week. And I saw you at her locker yesterday looking all sad."

"What are you, my counselor? Seriously, fuck off Berry."

"I'm just trying to be a friend. I… I know how it feels, that endless waiting for them to just _break up_ with that person who isn't right for them already. And my dads are open for discussion, if you want to talk with them. They understand what it's like to be… a little different."

Santana softened a bit. "Thanks for the offer, Berry. Not sure if I want to know that I'm acting as pitiful as you. But it's nice to know that I'm not alone." She walks away with her tray as the others sit down.

_Santana Lopez. I love her I-don't-give-a-crap-what-you-say, I'll-do-whatever-the-hell-I-want attitude. I love her voice._

_I hate the fact that she hides her true feelings, true thoughts, under that cold façade. I hate that she had sex with Finn and he ordered her a cheeseburger. I hate how outright cruel she can be. I hate that she declines my attempts at friendship. I hate that she doesn't realize how great she could really be._


End file.
